


Winner takes it all

by shaded_blue_fangs



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Human Names, amelia owns a bar, and pasta, and plays some pool, mafia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27106420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shaded_blue_fangs/pseuds/shaded_blue_fangs
Summary: Amelia F. Jones is the proud owner of the local bar. It's got pasta and a jukebox and pool tables. What more could you want? Her brother would argue "a little less noise", but that's besides the point.It's a popular enough spot. There's the regulars and the college kids and some guys in suits that came once or twice, but this guy? He's not like the others.
Relationships: Amelia/Ivan, Female America/Russia (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 38





	1. Pool Break

On the corner a few blocks from the town library and tucked between Maya’s Flower Garden and apartments leased by Mr. Gibson, Amelia F. Jones flicked on the neon “Open” sign above the door. She grinned to herself. The clock just struck seven and Tarriance Pub and Grill was now open for business.

Amelia, the pub’s young and proud owner, turned back around and surveyed the place. Her twin, Matthew, was already in place behind the bar. The old style jukebox was already kicking and Amelia mindlessly bobbed her head to the guitar riffs of Boston’s “Peace of Mind” as she walked towards the kitchen, knowing her staff was gathered back there. The door to the kitchen was on the other side of the bar and she avoided the empty tables easily; it would not be such a simple task in a few hours.

For such a popular pub in this little suburban town, her entire staff was only six people strong at any one time. Then again, there wasn’t actually a whole lot of seating space. She threw open the door, greeting her sour cook, Lovino, with a cheery smile and a wave. He barely acknowledged her, already deeply focused on cleaning the kitchen and preparing ingredients. Feliciano smiled and waved in his older brother’s stead. The Vargas brothers were childhood friends of hers and hired by her late father. She couldn’t bear to let them go, and despite Lovino’s rather short fuse, his skill behind the grill was too valuable.

In addition to Feliciano, Amelia’s friend Sakura Honda was also working waiting tables. Sakura was a transfer student from Japan attending the local university. Amelia had met her in an anime store in Adelburg and later, purely by coincidence, met again downtown in passing. One thing led to another, and Sakura was working at the pub and hanging out at Amelia’s place during school vacations.

The final worker of the night happened to just enter the kitchen in haste, in the middle of tying on his apron. Gilbert, Matt’s boyfriend, had been around the pub as long as Amelia herself so she excused his lateness. It’s not like she was a super strict boss anyway. She _did_ have a business to run, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t have fun. She liked to lead by example.

She greeted her crew and broke into her usual pep talk. “Alright everyone, it’s a summer Friday night, so there’s likely a lively bunch headed our way. I have no doubt y’all will be stellar. If there are _any_ issues, bring it straight to me.” This she said making clear eye contact. Feliciano and Sakura were both beautiful and shy; on rare occasions, they were the focus of unwanted attention. Amelia and Gilbert would have to gently remind the usually too-drunk-to-know-better loyal patrons of their unwelcome behavior. She can count on her hand the number of times they kicked customers out for unruliness or sexual harassment. But she always reminded her crew of her support. First and foremost, these people were her friends.

She wrapped it up with, “I’ll be managing the billiards section, floating around, maybe playing a game or two. Don’t be afraid to call me or Gil over. For anything, even if you need a hand moving chairs.”

Amelia’s pub truly wasn’t very big. Could seat oh, like, twenty tops. The curved bar took up the entire front right corner; two pool tables before the large windows in the front left; jukebox and pinball machine in the back left; tables and booths occupying the space in between.

The billiards were a special feature her dad had put in. He liked to play, and wanted to share it with his clientele. On the wall rested racks for the balls, cue sticks, and shelves for brushes and cubes of chalk. Six cocktail tables around the perimeter gave players enough space to do their thing while those sitting can observe and socialize.

Everyone in town knew of ‘Tarry’s’, as it was called. The crowds she tended to serve were a mix of young and old. Her customers in turn respected her, if not because they were old enough to have known her father, but because she was friendly and ran an efficient, clean, and reputable establishment. Because of this, they saw few fake IDs (not that they were easy to pick out, but still Amelia was _pretty_ sure she would know if someone was using one) and few bar brawls. In the seven years she’d owned the place, she hadn’t had anything more dangerous to deal with than customers who couldn’t stand up straight anymore, usually vomiting on someone’s shoes. The pub drew the jovial and exhausted after a hard day and it was a perfect place to unwind among friends.

Amelia just thanked her father for whatever good luck he was blessing her with from the afterlife.

It was probably around 11, maybe a little before. Amelia pulled up off the pool table after taking a shot, sinking her third ball in a row.

Randall clapped her back. “Forgive me if I hate you Jones, but you’re too good. I’m just glad you’re on my team this time ‘round.”

Amelia gave him a crooked grin, but Matt shouted from his spot behind the bar. “Yeah, except I lost a hundred bucks betting on her, so, you never know.”

Amelia’s grin soured a little and she hissed a peeved “ _Matt_ …” which barely made it over the din of music and raucous laughter. Amelia huffed and went to line up for a fourth ball and promptly missed the pocket.

“Argh!!” She growled in annoyance while the other players just chuckled some more. Minerva was lining up to strike a solid when Amelia noticed a seated couple whispering and looking around. She didn’t think much of it until another pair seated at a cocktail table behind her also started glancing about. Nothing spread faster than gossip.

She turned from the table, patting Randall’s shoulder to let him know she was stepping away. She maneuvered her way to the kitchen, catching Feliciano as he was leaving with a tray of wings and fries and pasta. Before she even said anything, Feliciano whispered, “some new customers just walked in. They’re creating a stir.”

Amelia caught Feli’s emphasis on “new”. She nodded and let him go. She briefly checked in to make sure Lovino wasn’t drowning in flour or massacring potatoes like last time. Then she waded through the elbows and knees to the bar, where she slipped in the side and leaned over to communicate with Matt.

“Hey bro. Feli said there were some customers that seemed off...”

Cue anime glasses lense flare as he looked over her shoulder.

“Big guys, four of them and a chick. Tattoos and a mean-looking, although-” and here he added a dry smile, “I think they’re trying to hide it.”

Amelia nodded in understanding. She made her way back to the pool table, sparing a look for herself in their direction. It made sense, the attention they got: visibly intimidating, but as Matt noted, not behind outright nuisances. She wouldn’t kick out paying customers if they weren’t causing trouble. She trusted Matt and her crew to let her know if something went awry.

\----

See, Matt was just teasing and being a jerk, as siblings tend to be. Amelia was actually _quite_ good at pool. It was a favorite past-time with her father and growing up and living above the pub meant she spent a good deal of time around billiards. She wrapped the game up in the turn after that, calling the pocket for the eight ball and sinking it with obvious ease. Her playmates thanked her for the game and meandered back to their tables, returning to friends and drink. 

Amelia turned to place her stick when she felt eyes on her. Different than the usual passing glance or friendly or forward appraisal. This gaze had weight A millisecond later a massive shadow blocked out the yellow light of the vintage green glass-stained lamps hanging above the green tables. _So my observer makes themselves known._ She glanced behind her, curious.

Leaning against the polished dark wood of the table rim was one of the men from Red Flag Table. He was probably the same size as Gil’s brother, Ludwig, away on deployment. Ludwig was a beefy hunk of a man just shy of six feet. _This_ guy though, had something... _threatening_ about him. Confidence with an edge.

He spoke as Amelia checked him out. (No, not _checking_ him out. Appraising. Looking at. _And finding pleasing yes but that’s beside the point_ ) “You are quite adept, although I must say I might be better. Would you like to go a game?”

Amelia’s eyebrows popped up at his voice--low and smooth and clear--addressing her. Then she looked in his eyes--a startling violet, more so than Mattie’s--and saw the challenge there. Intensity. It sparked that competitive nature that had gotten Amelia into nearly every single one of her bad decisions. That, mixed with low impulse control and a fairly trusting persona had made for rather caustic teenage shenanigans. Let it not be said that Amelia F. Jones backs down from a fight.

“You’re on, big guy. Eight-ball or nine?”

“Nine.” 

“So, five rounds then?”

“Da. That sounds good.” He turned and moved over to the rack and plucked a cue stick. It looked familiar in his hands. Lots of things probably seemed familiar in his hands. Amelia snatched the diamond rack and began pulling the solid balls up from the pockets to set it up.

There was a slight tremor to the air, catalyzed by challenge. A thread of concentration was between only the two of them. The music still pumped steady Led Zeppelin hits and people were still talking and passing jokes. Drinks and secrets and stories were still being shared. It felt like it was just her and him in the busy room. It was strangely intimate.

As she worked Amelia asked, “You wanna break?”

“No, ladies first.” He stood to the side, chalking up the tip.

As he moved away to the light, she got a better look at him, from the corner of her eye of course. His long black coat helped to accentuate his figure and lay unbuttoned, showing a black shirt underneath. _All black, how quaint. He’s either trying too hard to intimidate or is as scary as he seems._ Either way, the darkness made his pale skin, ash blonde hair, and scarf that Amelia’s mother would call “Egg Shell White” stand out. And it made the only spot of color on him--his lavender eyes--seem _iridescent_.

When she finished rolling the rack, she removed it and set it aside, moving to the opposite end to set up the cue ball. She took a deep breath, to focus, then lay her eye along the cue. Sighting her target, she breathed again, executing a wonderful break in time with her exhale. The satisfying clicks of the oversized marbles knocked off each other brought a smile to Amelia’s lips. She shot that smirk over to her opponent.

“Hmm, not bad.”

Her guest walked around the table, passing by her shoulder to do so. Amelia could barely suppress a quiver. He smelled like mint and winter. It was fresh and wonderful and made her want to bottle it up and save it for hot, humid, miserable days when she feels lonely.

Amelia shook herself, almost disgusted with how quickly she started to be infatuated with this man. She didn’t even know his name for chrissake!

The crack of the cue ball strike brought her back to her senses. He hadn’t been able to pot ball one, but he’d pushed the number two in the deflect, and managed to get nine out of line. Since her goal was to pocket the nine after making contact with the lowest number on the table, he was already making things difficult.

Oh, this would be _fun_.

They went back and forth, rebounding off the rails and pinballing the cue through the colors of the solids. It took them no large amount of time to sink the first game, only five turns between the two of them. Amelia took that first round. Getting through all five rounds was both relaxed and tense. There was no need to rush; every step and move made was calculated and measured by both parties. Yet a pressure, a tension, bred in the passing lingering glances. It padded around her elbows; she self consciously remembered the worn plaid button down she was wearing, sleeves rolled up because it was crazy to wear it any other way. She felt his staring tracing over the nape of her neck, and in exchange her gaze was drawn to his backside. The air between them crackled quietly under the lull of the pub’s atmosphere. Amelia blushed. _Is this what chemistry felt like?_

When his hit to the five ball deflected into the nine ball and went into his called pocket on the fifth round, Amelia threw up her hands goodnaturedly.

“Alright, I know when I’m beat. But who to? Yours is not a familiar face ‘round these parts.”

He smiled as he walked around the table. He removed his glove and stuck out his left hand, the one not holding the cue stick. He was wearing a small smile, chin slightly tucked into his scarf. “Ivan Braginsky. Call me Ivan.”

Amelia felt her heart flutter and she returned her own trademark Hollywood smile. “I’m Amelia Jones, nice ta meetcha.” She shook his hand firmly and had to stop herself from staring at the tattoos decorating the back of it.

“Say, big guy, how you feel about straight pool, say, to one fifty?”

She felt him twitch in her grip and his eyes widened. Then he smiled and nodded. Amelia gave a single nod to affirm and then withdrew her hand to go to the half-wall. She pulled up the short chalk board from the top and scrawled at the top _Amelia_ and _Evan_. She paused when Ivan came over and tapped her shoulder. The slightest breath curled around her ear as he whispered delicately, “That’s not how you spell my name.”

Then from over her shoulder, he plucked the chalk out of her hand and rewrote it to say _Ivan_. Amelia cast her eyes down and felt her cheeks flush. Ivan’s chuckle startled her into looking back up.

His eyes were kind when he said, “Do not worry. It is common mistake, no?”

“Sorry.” She blurted out. He just chuckled again, waving a hand.

“How about this time I make first break?”

“Sure.”

He set up the full fifteen rack, set up his cue and smoothly broke the set. Straight pool required different thinking than the usual eight-ball. They had different goals. Each ball had a number and so when Amelia sunk one, she got that number of points. When there was only one ball left on the table, they would stop, re-rack the pocketed balls and keep going until one of them got to one hundred and fifty. Amelia made quick work of the higher number balls, consistently sinking them before Ivan. It wasn’t long before she sunk the ball that put her at one-fifty-six.

Ivan applauded her and asked for a rematch, a mischievous glint in his eye. She was struck, all at once, with an absurd joy. A kinship, camaraderie, the similarity of feeling… _Focus on the game girl!_ Ivan started implementing bold moves, and Amelia felt _obligated_ to match his merit with more and more creative stakes of her own.

They were neck and neck, Ivan ahead by six points and seven away from one-fifty. Amelia, fifteen points behind, decided to try and go defensive to prolong the game. Bending over, closing one eye along the length of the cue stick. Breathe. Focus. No shot could be taken lightly; every hit needed full concentration. The cue stick slid in her hands, smooth as oil, _SMACK_ into the cue ball, watching as it hit the green felt of the rail and then, spinning slightly, knocked the crucial balls to the scatter in the middle of the table. The shot took the momentum out of the cue ball and it jolted to a stop right along the rails. Now, any balls that would get Ivan victory in one turn were at awkward angles or behind other balls.

Not that it seemed to phase him. He moved from his position of rest--cue stick tucked into the crook of an elbow as his arms were crossed, eyes glowing in the dim, taking in every move of the pieces on the table--and executed a beautiful rebound off the opposite side of the table. It knocked the four ball in, so Amelia changed the score board. In her next turn, she knocked the highest ball on the table--the ten--with just enough momentum that the cue ball was left teetering on the edge of the pot. Ivan sent her a wry look to which she answered with a smirk.

His-- _holy moly those fingers are long_ \--absurdly large hands spanned the pot to make a bridge and send a hard shot to the far side of the table. It ricocheted off the six ball, sinking it and awarding Ivan victory.

Amelia grinned and winked, adrenaline and excitement at having such a skilled opponent mingling with the bitterness at losing. It gave her a new flavor: promise of rematch, even rivalry. They shook hands.

Amelia opened her mouth to speak when there was a slight crash behind them. Ivan tensed. It was subtle, but she was so attuned to Ivan in the moment, she saw it and felt it. He pulled his hand out of hers quickly and half turned around to assess the situation. Amelia looked around him to see nothing was wrong. Mattie was waving her off from his spot behind the bar, wiping up the remains of a glass. But still, she ought to investigate. She was due for rounds anyway.

She spoke up, getting the taller man’s attention. “I’d love ta play with you more, Ivan, but I’d better check in with my staff. I feel like I’ve abandoned them as it is.”

He turned back around at her voice. He’d recovered so quickly you’d never notice, but that noise had startled him, she was sure. Though Amelia couldn’t tell if had been with fear, anxiety, or what, she could tell it had been purely instinctual. 

When he faced her however, his eyes were calm and lighthearted--though not completely without provocation. His attention completely fixed on her as he processed her words. “Not a problem, Miss Jones. My brothers and I will be here for some time longer; I believe they’re trying to celebrate? Relax? Da, I do not know, but they insisted I come. I’m glad I did.” She was about 82% those last words were a _purr._

Amelia grinned. “Miss Jones? Naw, that’s too fancy for a gal like me. Amelia’s fine, Amy, anything really.”

“Da, then Amelia.”

Amelia’s heart skipped at the sound of her name rolling off his tongue. _C_ _hill out, yo!_ She breathed out wrestling for control of herself. "Hmm...since y’all will be around, I’d be happy for a rematch on that straight pool before closing.”

“I’d be delighted.”

“Then, I’ll be back. Shouldn’t take more n’ twenty minutes.” Amelia tilted to look around Ivan’s shoulders, eyeing the crowd. She continued speaking, although more to herself, “Maybe, thirty...It’s pretty busy ‘til nearabouts 1 AM.”

Then she looked back up at Ivan. “Alright big guy. _I_ van, I mean. When you see me up here setting to play, come and join me.”

He nodded and turned away to return to his booth. There were other similarly dressed and mannered people, though not all of them men. Amelia had the wildest strike of jealousy, thinking one of the women, particularly that doll-like blonde, could be his girlfriend or something, but she gave it no mind. She had a job to do. Amelia immediately went over the bar, slipping behind it to join Matthew.

“Y’all right here, Matt?”

He just snorted, glass pieces long gone and back to serving drinks. He was efficient like that. He dropped lime slices in two G&Ts and slid them over to the customer before reaching for a martini glass.

“Nice of you to ask. I could use a hand, since you’re free from your impish pool games.”

“Sorry bro, didn’t mean to ditch you to this lot.” Titters from the regulars seated across from them. Amelia pulled out four beer mugs and turned the tap on to fill them up, nimble fingers moving quickly and mindlessly. She spoke sardonically, joustingly since their conversation wasn’t exactly private.

“That guy you were playing with...I think he was one of those who’d come in that freaked Feli out.” Matt finished off the martini and then collected payment for a departing party.

Amelia dished out the beers before preparing another drink. “Hmph. I think I figured that out. But no harm done. Besides...he’s really good. What of the rest of his people?”

Matt reached up on the shelves behind them to retrieve a bottle of rum, playfully bopping it on the crown of his sister’s head on his way back. He smirked as he poured the liquor into a cup over ice. “Not a peep from their side. They’ve been nothing but polite, if a bit gruff and rough in their voice, as Sakura says.” Amelia gave a small sigh of relief. She’d’ve been really upset if that _hunk_ of a guy had shitty friends. She’d be double upset if she had to kick them out before she got that rematch. Crisis averted.

Matt leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Careful not to look too relieved. Someone might accuse you of developing a _crush_.”

Amelia smacked her brother’s shoulder as she passed him to grab a few of the little paper umbrellas from under the lip of the counter, to the boisterous amusement of those seated immediately at the bar. "It's good they ain't causin’ havoc in my bar. And also, shut up.” this last she sassed towards the pair teasing her. She raised her voice to announce haughtily. “That aside, I gotta give credit where credit is due. He’s highly skilled: bested me in nines _and_ a round of straights. I’m actually a little depressed.”

“Hmm…” Matt trailed off, fixing a few more rum cocktails before mixing some Screwdrivers and Mudslides while Amelia worked on beers and sours. It was a companionable silence, familiar. They’d worked behind bars together for years. It was a minute or so later that Matt, wry grin in place, muttered, “But he’s pretty hot, huh?”

Someone sniggered.

Only years of training kept Amelia from dropping the mug. She said nothing and moved confidently, not betraying anything.

But Matt knew her better than that. Amelia was a _stellar_ actor, profound at lying and sweet talking her way out of any situation. Amelia was friendly and approachable and casual in any setting. She was everyone’s best friend and could almost instantly gain trust. Those feelings were genuine, but they were also a shield. She loathed to let others see anything else about her beyond that mask. Only Matt, really, could read her. So Matt knew, despite her outward lack of reaction, he’d hit the nail on the head.

Amelia knew that Matt could read her, so after a moment of collecting her racing pulse, said, “I’ve only just met him. Don’t insinuate anything. But yeah, I’m a mature adult and can agree with you objectively: he’s hot.”

Sniggering broke to open laughter as some not-so-discreetly swiveled around to try and sneak a peek.

Mattie let her be. She was right, and he was only poking fun. Once she helped him get the orders down to a manageable level, she split to find Sakura.

As she walked the floor, she found herself very aware of a certain booth were a certain man was sitting. She didn’t dare look over, for fear of being caught staring. She met with Sakura as she left a table.

“Any issues?”

“Ah, none here. But Lovino is being, um, more abrasive than usual.”

Amelia almost smacked herself. Lovino had a tendency to work himself into a...shall we say...frenzy. He was very passionate about food. The two kitchen gofers were pretty terrified of him. Sometimes he could have anxiety attacks out of stress. She’d been meaning to get him a su chef, but his standards were rather hard to meet.

She made her way towards the kitchen, picking up an empty glass for a refill before going to the kitchen. In the second just before she entered, she chanced a look over at Braginsky’s table. Her eyes fell almost naturally on the ashen blonde, finding him on the end. 

And she was startled to find his gaze already on her.

She bobbed her head and ducked into the kitchen, thanking God for not being able to blush. Lovino was playing music. Country. A good sign. At least it wasn’t Norwegian Death Metal. Those were bad nights. 

She filled up that girl’s refill and handed it to Sakura on her way out, telling her which table it went to.

“Hey Lovi!” Amelia announced her presence, but staying to the peripheries and out of Lovino’s way.

“Amy, I have had to make _thirteen_ of those awful potato sides you insist should stay on the menu. You do realize how annoying it is to shred and fry those things?” Lovino didn’t even look at her, busy finishing toppings on a pizza before bustling over to the oven to slide it in.

“Hashbrowns are an American classic!”

“They’re an abomination!”

“Oh, but Lovi, the customers love ‘em! And you make ‘em the best! Better than anywhere else.”

“Damn right.” Lovino flipped a slab of meat with a flourish.

Amelia knew that, even with his sharp tone and short temper, Lovino was happy to see her. Well, relieved could be a better word. She knew that allowing him to rant to someone would help ease his nerves, and take some of the burden off of Lizaveta and Heracles.

He clucked his tongue, moving to the broad counter to start assembling the plates. “Because _I_ make them fresh unlike those _bestemmiatori alimentari inutili_. Ah! And all these _dishes!_ \--” He slapped the rag that had been hanging over his shoulder onto the free cabinet. “Amy, when will you get me a proper dishwasher, eh? This one can _mangia merde e morte_.” He began to dice up vegetables.

Amelia winced. “Yeah, I’ll get on that.”

“And for the love of--” At that moment Feli came in and reached for the completed plates of burgers and pasta. Lovino cut himself off to talk to his brother in rapid Italian. “ _Tenere le patatine l’ontano d’alla pasta. C'era olio di sesamo su di loro e l'idiota con la pasta ha un'allergia.”_

Feli nodded and took a different plate in each hand, leaving his tray on the shelf above the counter.

“Lovino sorry about it. It’s a busy night, again. I know you have it rough. We can look for kitchen help, but I’d need your assistance. It’d need to be someone you can work with.”

“ _Si, si,_ I know.” Lovino turned to stir something in the pot on the stove, kept on low heat. Then he sprinkled something in it and stirred it some more.

“Alright. We can talk tomorrow if you’d like. I know these hours are brutal on you.”

Lovino was nodded as he flipped some more of the grilling meat.

“...So I’m gonna go back out now. Keep up the good work!” Amelia sent him a huge smile and thumbs up. Lovino glanced up for that before returning to his work, waving a hand absentmindedly.

 _He seems alright…_ The entire exchange probably only took about five minutes.

Amelia went back out. There were a few large parties, with tables pushed together. Amelia helped Gil serve them, since memorizing orders was a pain on anyone. She let herself reenter the groove of waitressing, using her sugary words and charisma to work up tips and make guests feel comfortable. And she _liked_ waitressing, talking with people she’d known for years, or making conversation with someone new. This is her _element_. She was so into it she barely noticed when she’d pass Braginsky’s table.

Key word: barely.

His presence was like a small magnet in the back of her mind. She couldn’t help herself for being eager to resume their game. _And have him all to myself_.

She held on for a little longer as Gil took his break. Only when he came back, shooting her a finger gun, did she deem the place settled for her to slip away for the games again. She made her way back to the jukebox first, flicking through and selecting some of Michael Jackson’s more mellow pieces.

By then it was a little before two in the morning and the pub was slowly leaking clumps of people out onto the street. It was that time of night when the Tarry’s seemed to sigh, since it wasn’t bursting full of people anymore, and drew those who remained in for a close hug.

Amelia went over the pool area. It felt like only a second before Ivan stepped next to her to grab a cue stick.

Amelia chuckled. “Seems you’re as ready as I am for this game.”

Ivan smiled, ducking his head. “Da. There is not much time before closing.”

Amelia hummed, watching him as he chalked up his stick and began pulling balls out of the pockets. “...You do realize you’re playing against the owner? I have no qualms about keeping on after closing.”

He stopped and looked up at her. “Mm, da...but I would not like to keep you up late.”

Amelia waved her hand. “Oh don’t be a worry wart. I’m plenty used to late nights...all nighters. I don’t sleep well anyways. Besides, I’m just letting you know we can take our time. _I_ am in no rush to finish”

Ivan looked at her carefully, and she stepped forward to set up the balls.

“We’re still doing straights right?”

“Da, even so Miss Jones--Amelia, I won’t keep you that long.”

“Alright, just this one game then.”

Ivan nodded and Amelia went around to bend over the table, sending the white ball into the others for a solid break. Then it was Ivan’s turn. Amelia couldn’t help the way her eyes traced over his mostly concealed form as he bent down to the table. Shame the coat covered his ass. _It has to be as glorious as the rest of him_. Amelia bit her lip. As he rose, she asked, “Are your friends waiting for you?

“Nyet.”

Amelia looked up at him as she lowered her cue stick. “What?”

“It means ‘no’”

“I figured. I meant ‘what’ as in ‘how could they do that’? Did they ditch you? Y’all right getting home? Wait, have you been drinking tonight?” After finishing her turn, she eyed him suspiciously.

He laughed before taking his shot. “No, not tonight unfortunately. And I have a driver, not to worry.”

“Just wantin’ ta make sure my customers get home safe, ya know? Can’t go ‘round and ruin my rep.”

“Of course.” He giggled. It was an odd, a high sound coming from a big man. Had an endearing and disarming affect. It gave his face a very different shape when he smiled. Even if it only lasted a second.

In this way the gameplay passed, with gentle banter, light conversation. Amelia learned that the friends he had come with had indeed been celebrating _and_ relaxing. One of them, Toris was the name, just had a birthday and the group of them had just completed a difficult project. (“project” said, erm, _delicately_ ). The pair finished off their game just as 3 rolled around. 

Amelia spoke as she put the rack and cue stick away, “That was a lot of fun. Playing with you is exhilerating. If you wanna go again sometime, I’m down.”

Ivan mimicked her actions, “Da, I would also enjoy that. Have you ever played Russian pyramid?”

Amelia shook her head. “I’ve heard of it, but don’t know how to play.”

Ivan smiled. It pushed his cheeks out, rounding the edges. 

Amelia asked, “Do you play chess? I feel like you’d be good at chess. And cards. I like both.”

Ivan’s face split into a grin, something dangerous and on edge about it. “Oh, _da_ , I know chess. I play chess very well. And my poker face is good.”

Amelia asked, “Would you want to play chess too? I have a set at my place…”

At that, Ivan looked at her, quiet and thoughtful. Amelia had a sudden impression that she was like a bug under this man’s gaze: small, insignificant, and unable to hide anything. It was a weird feeling, unfamiliar. She felt disarmed and couldn’t figure out if it was a good or bad feeling. She wondered if she should regret her desire to befriend him.

She dismissed the feeling. Her gut had never betrayed her, and it was firm in the fact that this man was a good (and devilishly handsome) one.

His purple eyes were still on her though, assessing and reading. Amelia masked her thoughts, as best as she could. She did not have a good poker face, but people ended up underestimating her anyway. Eventually he nodded and withdrew from a pocket inside his coat a phone. He opened it and handed it to her.

“I would like that very much. Please, leave your number so we may talk. I would like to be friends with you also, Amelia.”

He was very to the point. She appreciated straightforwardness in her friends.

She also decided she liked the way he said her name, the ‘-ia’ came out more as a ‘-ya’. It did things to her heart.

She entered her phone number and quickly sent herself a text. She felt it buzz in her back pocket and returned Ivan’s blackberry to him, pulling out her own beat-up iPhone 4 held in a well loved Captain Marvel phone case. “Aha, now I’ve got you too.” Then she noticed the time.

“Oh look, our timing was well done. It seems I have to kick you out now.” She gave him a wry grin. Amelia, feeling slightly strange, like in one of those out-of-body experiences, pat him on the shoulder and unthinkingly added, as she often did to Matthew, “Take care and don’t do stupid shit!” Then she was off to do closing rounds. She missed the way he blinked and looked after her retreating blonde hair with an odd expression on his face. He was still for a moment before moving and leaving the building. It was a second later that a sleek limo pulled up and Ivan got in the back seat.

Amelia desperately hoped the jukebox wasn’t jammed or the bathrooms clogged or that things hadn’t fallen apart in the last couple hours. She was really lusting for her bed right now. She couldn’t help but sigh to herself. No matter what the night had wrought, she was _very_ glad it brought a _lovely_ pair of Salvatore Ferregamo’s belonging to a certain Ivan Braginsky into Tarry’s tonight. She was hoping to be seeing a whole lot more of him, the sooner the better.

In fact, she’d bet on it.


	2. Surprise Visit

It was Sunday a few weeks later. In fact, it was _so_ late Sunday night, it technically could be called Monday morning. The bar was closed Mondays and Amelia closed early on Sundays. Granted, three hours early was still late by normal human standards, but it made a difference to the Jones siblings. It became something of a ritual to watch a movie or episode of a show when they got home.

They had recently started watching _Jane the Virgin_ , and were about halfway through episode three of the first season. Amelia was sprawled on the couch, one foot rested on Matt’s lap, the other splayed out under the coffee table. One arm propped her head up to see, the other alternated between reaching into the popcorn bowl cradled on her chest and stuffing the popped and buttery kernels into her mouth. Mattie’s legs were bent, feet resting on the edge of the coffee table, a popcorn bowl of his own in his hand. Though, to be fair, his was less of a bowl and more of a cup compared to Amelia’s share. 

It was almost unnerving, the silent intensity with which they watched TV. They were normally so boisterous, but when it came to TV they gave it their undivided attention. The noise would, of course, resume as soon as the credits began rolling. The pair would _not_ shut up after they saw _The_ _Avengers_ for the first time. They jabbered on for nearly an hour after they and their friends left the theater, gushing, critiquing, arguing for the whole ride home. No one else could get a word in edgewise.

Another unspoken rule was no phones. Cellular phones or other mobile devices were left far away where they wouldn’t disturb the experience.

When the sound of Amelia’s ringtone (it changed frequently, in tune with her mood. Currently it was the chorus from “Fergalicious”) came ringing through the house, it startled them both, enough that Amelia’s bowl teetered and began to fall. She had to make an awkward move to save it. Even then, some of the popcorn went flying comically. Matt paused the episode.

“Who could that be? It’s 1 AM.”

The ringtone came again. With a grumble, Amelia put the bowl on the table and reluctantly heaved herself to her feet. She padded around the corner and down the hall. Her phone was still ringing off the hook. Her mouth twisted in annoyance at the profile picture on the screen.

It isn’t the most flattering image of her cousin, but she used it because every time he saw it he demanded she change it. She didn’t change it just to needle him. And it is a funny image. He’s mid jump, the book he’d been reading falling from his hands, and his expression twisted in surprise, which on him makes him look like a cat who’s tail’s been stepped on. Arthur isn’t used to being startled. It has been a source of endless joy for the Jones twins.

Amelia quickly unplugged the phone, swiped to answer and held it to her ear. She barked out without preamble, “ _Do_ you know what time it is, you stuff--”

“Nice to hear you too.” Arthur’s clipped voice cuts her off smoothly. She grumbles as he continues. “I actually need a favor, otherwise I wouldn’t call.”

“...What is it?”

“Do you think you could come pick me up?”

Amelia blinked. _What?_ She pulled the phone from her ear to double check who it was. Nope, yep, same stupid picture and the label _The Posh One_. She bit her lip then called back to her brother, “Yo, Artie’s finally lost it. Says to ‘come pick him up’.”

“What?” Mattie replied, coming into her room, but she held a finger to her mouth to shush him.

She put the phone back to her ear in time to hear Arthur huff.

“Actually, I--I’m standing in Jensen Airport right now.” His words, while not exactly a stutter, came haltingly and Amelia could picture him fiddling with a zipper, or adjusting a tie, or checking his watch in nervous habit.

Amelia’s jaw dropped. Matt gestured at her furiously, mouthing, _‘What is it?’_

She mouthed back. _‘Artie’s at Jensen!’_ Then their faces match perfectly in expressions of shock. Amelia tilted the phone horizontal and put it on speaker phone

“...thought it prudent that I take some time away. Suggested a vacation. Heh, well, _‘suggested’_ isn’t quite putting it right. He knows I have family, said I ought to go visit. Enjoy the New Country countryside. So...here I am. And I’d be chuffed if one of you could bother to come collect me.”

The twins made eye contact over the phone, a conversation passing between them fast as thought.

_Not me. You?_

_I don’t wanna._

_Well me neither!_

Mattie turned around and went through his sister’s book shelf, finding the bowl of loose change and retrieved a quarter. He turned back around and flipped it. 

Amelia was always heads.

Mattie was always tails.

Mattie caught it and slapped it down on the back of his hand.

“Well? You dunderheads flipped for it yet?” Arthur’s cultured British voice sounded tinny and whiny on the phone.

Mattie pumped his fist merrily while Amelia’s head tilted back and groaned.

“Amelia will be by shortly!” Mattie singsonged into the phone.

“Right well, get on it. I’m exhausted.”

 _That makes two of us._ Amelia thought, and tapped the end call button.

“I’ll go prep the futon.” Mattie chirped and skipped out the room.

“Can you at least help me uncover the truck? It’s--oh shit, it’s _pouring_ out right now!”

“No! Why should both of us get wet when only one is enough?”

Amelia sighed and went to her closet. She grumbled as she tugged on some Timberlands, meaningles words about unfair brothers and stupid surprise visit from certain European cousins and the absolute meanness of it all. Ruining movie night of all nights. 

She kept right on grumbling as she fetched her bag and the keys and marched outside the apartment. Not quite yet subjected to the deluge, she trudged down the stairs. As she approached the parking lot she threw the hood up. They kept their old Ford Ranger under a tarp. They rarely used the thing. For one, it was older than both of them, used to be their father’s and neither of them learned the skills necessary for its upkeep. For another, their apartment complex was quite close to Tarry’s, and everywhere else relevant was accessible via public transport. While they didn’t live in the city proper, they were in a suburb close enough that the truck was more a hindrance than a help. Covering it helped with rain and nature’s detritus, since _some_ one had lost the truck bed’s cover some years ago.

Amelia wrestled the tarp off the truck, rolling it up and securing it in the truck bed with bungee cords. The driver’s door opened with a screech audible above the downpour and had to be slammed to close properly. With an agonizing and mildly alarming cough, the machine started up. Amelia ignored all the lights on the dashboard, though her eyes lingered on the gas meter. It was dangerously close to E; another reason not to use the truck. It guzzled gas like nobody's business and they were both too lazy to get to the cheapest station (which was far) and fill up (which was expensive). Amelia figured there was enough to get to Jensen and back...she hoped. If not, she’d make Arthur pay for the fill up. As recompense for this inconvenience.

(It wasn’t an inconvenience at all, really. Amelia adored her cousin. But moods must, and Amelia was already tired and dreading the drive.)

With that heartening sentiment, she set off.

She knew the unfairness of the night wasn’t over when she saw the long line of red tail lights, lit up like a snake in the rain-splattered windshield. The interstate was horrifically backed up with only a few exits to go. Thinking back, she remembered with a groan all the signs for night construction. _F that,_ she thought and peeled off the next exit, determined to get to Jensen Airport via the backroads. 

Her grasp of Sephur City layout wasn’t the most adept. She had a few locations in her head, and one reliable way to get to them. With the highway a no show, she had to fall back on rusty knowledge of the backway.

She knew her luck had worsened when about thirty minutes out from the airport (actually only three miles away as the crow flies, but getting access to the airport was limited without the interstate service ways--in fact, those might be what’s under construction.) flashing blue and red lights told her thirty wasn’t going to be enough.

Amelia came to a stop near one of the cop cars and rolled her window down. An officer holding a flashlight and directional stick was gesturing to a road to the left, which was _away_ from the airport. She frowned.

“What happened?” She shouted through the rain. The cop ducked a bit and came closer. She repeated her inquiry.

“There’s been a bad accident up that way. It will take awhile to clear the roads. We’ve set up a detour back through Winston Square, if you’ll just--”

“Winston Square?” She didn’t _mean_ to sound pissy, but it was late and this night had been inconvenience after damned inconvenience. “I need to get to Jensen! If you’ll just let me pass through…” Amelia trailed off when the officer shook her head.

“I’m sorry, but there’s no way. It was a...nasty wreck. I mean, with this rain…”

Amelia pursed her lips and gave a stiff nod.

The cop gave her a look and nodded in return. “Well, uh, you have a good night then.”

“You too. Be safe out there.” Amelia relinquished her bad temper, guilt rusting its supports.

“Thanks.” The cop gave a curt nod and backed up. Amelia scrolled the window back up as the officer returned to her post, directing other cars, silhouettes in the headlights slightly blurred by the rain. Amelia turned left.

There were only cops giving directions for the next three blocks. Amelia bit her lip. Her knowledge of the city was not strong enough in this situation. And in the dark, with the rain, it was becoming harder and harder to recognize where she was. After the second turn without someone directing her, she slapped the wheel in frustration. No one was around so she came to a halt at one of the red lights. She turned the car off in an attempt to save gas. 

Without the grizzly sound of the engine, the sound of the rain dominated. It would be soothing to Amelia if she weren’t in such a stressful situation. She fumbled for her bag, where her phone was stored while driving, and glanced around, trying to take stock of her surroundings. 

It looked like it could be a residential area? Or perhaps just office buildings? Maybe even warehouses. They all kinda appeared the same. Lots of brick and cement buildings clustered around the street with windows. And it looked like store fronts there at the street level. Although, and Amelia squinted, some appeared to be boarded up. Her heart sank as she realized none of it was familiar. 

Phone in hand, she unlocked it and shot off a few quick texts to Matt and Artie to explain her lateness. Then she opened the maps app, typing ‘Jensen Airport’ in the search bar. She glanced around again as it loaded. _C’mon, c’mon!_ She thought, tapping her finger on the case anxiously.

Suddenly there was a loud _THUMPBANG_ at the same time the truck rocked slightly. Her head shot up to see a dark figure slide off the other side of her hood. Her mouth opened in shock. She meant to say, “What the fuck?” when distinct albeit muffled _pop pop_ s came from the left. It was only because of Amelia’s extensive movie watching that she could place it as--

She was already ducking when there was a _CRASH_ and the sound of punctured metal as her left headlight shattered. The truck may be old, decrepit and almost the bane of the Jones’ existence, but it was a relic of their father’s and did not deserve this treatment.

She yelped and jerked down, phone flying and falling between her knees. She curled up best she could and covered her head with her arms. It took a second for her to grow aware of the sound of the passenger door opening. _Oh fuck. Shoulda locked the fucking doors when I stopped. That’s like, street safety 101. Maybe 102._ She began to shift to see who it was only to freeze when the sound of the rain on the roof was punctuated with the unmistakable sound of a gun cocking. 

_Shoulda locked the_ fucking _doors, Amelia._

“You. Drive or I’ll put this bullet through that pretty head of yours.”

Amelia blinked and looked up from her arms. The voice was not deep or gruff or anything she expected. Sitting in her passenger seat was not some old creepy guy, but a lithe Asian woman. Who apparently did not take kindly to the gawking, and waved the gun a bit in Amelia’s face. Amelia recoiled like it was one of Mattie’s soiled socks and lunged for the key. 

She turned it. The truck coughed in protest. _Oh shit_. New panic erupted in her veins, only slightly related to the present threat. The woman was tense, her dark hair plastered to her skin. Her hand didn’t shake as it leveled the nozzle of the gun at Amelia.

“Why isn’t it going?” The woman snapped, gun coming close enough to brush Amelia’s arm. She shied away, still trying to start the car. The engine was not having any of it. It turned, turned again. Sputtered. The truck, after years of acting like a dopey but loyal dog, had finally decided to be catty? Now, of all times?

“Start the car!” The woman shouted, finally shoving the gun into Amelia’s face. The nozzle was cold and Amelia, crying now, diligently kept turning the key, praying to whatever cruel master in this casino hall of life that held her chips that it would _just--_

 _How did my night come to this?_ Amelia thought. Her hands were shaking so badly they slipped off the keys. The woman was shouting at her again. Amelia gave up on the stupid truck and held her hands up, backing away as much as the seat would let her. Her eyes would not leave the gun. She flinched whenever it moved too fast. 

Then she saw something over her shoulder. The woman cursed and spun away, kicking the door back open. Normally that door got stuck, but the woman got it open in one massive kick. The loud bang shook through the truck. Resonated in Amelia’s bones. Brought her senses back. With the gun no longer facing her, Amelia felt like she could breathe again. Think again. She blinked. Blinked again. In a flash she remembered the pepper spray Mattie stashed next to the e-kit under the seat. _No time_. She fumbled for the seatbelt and in a chaotic desperate tumble, launched herself at her attacker. 

Now, it went against every teaching anyone had ever told her, but Amelia was not one to shy away from a challenge. And she wanted to punch this person who _dared_ to scare her. Even if her attacker still had the gun. And, though she was loathe to admit it, Amelia wanted to punch the woman hard enough to remember what it felt like to be in control. 

Amelia’s legs got stuck on the seat, but she managed to grab the woman’s jacket clad arm, gripping it hard enough that the woman’s own leap to dash away was aborted. Her jacket slid off her shoulder and she fell back towards the truck. Amelia used the lapse to scramble over the seats.

She was aware of the woman rearing back, regaining her footing. She was aware of the woman bringing the gun back up, moving to grip it with two hands. She knew she had milliseconds. The urge to freeze again, the rabbit before the wolf, rose up, but she took that in her fists and shredded it into coward’s confetti. Fueled by a rage somehow outside herself, she fixated on the woman’s waist, below the gun and launched herself at her again, football style. 

Absently, she noted the woman’s thinness, and then noted, as her face crashed into her torso, how absolutely _not_ frail she was. Still, Amelia’s own frame, larger in comparison, was enough to send them both crashing to the ground. Without hesitating despite the instant stinging in her knees and shins, she reared back and socked the woman across the jaw. 

Amelia was no stranger to violence, but it had been awhile. It gave her immense satisfaction to see the woman’s head jerk to the side, cheek immediately blossoming red. To see the jolt of surprise and then pain in the woman’s eyes. 

She punched her again across the other cheek, pressing her advantage.

It didn’t last for the third time. With a savage twist of her hips, and a quick grab with her non-gun-toting hand, she dislodged Amelia. Before she could be sure what happened, the woman was standing behind her, hand fisted in her hair and gun pressed intently into her temple. The urge to freeze and maybe hyperventilate resurfaced. Amelia’s body shook with the effort to resist it. Or perhaps she had already succumbed to the fear. 

She blinked rapidly, the rain getting in her eyes. 

If not for the pain in her scalp and the past few seconds telling her it was real, she would not have believed her eyes. Before her stood Ivan Braginsky. Some other people stood behind him, but she only had eyes for him. The rain had plastered his silvery hair to his skull. He was dressed in a dark jacket, same scarf, and carrying a...was that a _pipe?_

She looked up at him but he wasn’t looking at her. His glare, sharp and intense and cold-- _why was that so hot??_ \--was fixed her captor. The woman, as if to remind her of her presence tightened her grip. Amelia clenched her eyes shut against the pain that bloomed hot in her scalp.

“Let me go or we find out what her brains look like outside her head.”

Amelia’ breath stopped. She stayed absolutely still, terrified she might provoke something out of the woman.

Ivan frowned, twirling the pipe before propping it like cane. “Lein, we are not the police. You know this is not the effective method. I couldn’t care less if you send her to her maker.”

Amelia didn’t like feeling fear, but she could deal with it. She could fight it with rage until her tears ran dry and fist turned bloody. But at Ivan’s words...it was like thousands of needles embedded themselves in her heart at once, delivering a pain she’d never felt before. Now way to prepare for. No way to combat it. Her breath, already shallow, caught in her throat. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know if she _could_ say anything. What was she feeling? Why did it feel like a dream? Despite the nozzle nestled behind her ear and the hand in her hair, the scratch of nails biting into her skin, Amelia felt like an observer. 

She watched Ivan gesture broadly and say, “But you will not shoot her because you are weak, Lien. Yao knew that the drop point was in our territory and he knew we were watching. He _knew_ we would catch whoever he sent. And he sent you. So I suppose that makes you _disposable_.”

The woman--Lein--tightened her grip. Amelia felt it and felt her body twitch in reaction, but couldn’t _feel_ it.

 _Had that game been a joke? The banter, dare I call it_ flirting _\--all lies?_ Her thoughts floated through her mind like a mist. _I mean, I had some guess. It’s hard to mistake a rough guy, but to...to…_ She couldn’t even finish the thought.

 _No. It wasn’t lies. It can’t have been. I...I’m not so easily duped! Even if I’m soft for a handsome face._ Amelia raised her eyes back to Ivan’s form, but she slowed her gaze, assessing. His face was tense, eyes shadowed, jaw clenched. She wasn’t familiar enough with him, with the circumstances to know why, but she hoped part of his tension was a fear for her and that that line was the lie.

His hands, gloved, moved easily over the pipe. It was too dark, the rain too heavy to tell much else. She looked to the men behind him as Ivan’s exchange with Lien carried on. They were both male, one taller and brunette, the other petite and possibly blonde. Wet hair made it hard to tell. The brunette’s was tied back in a ponytail. He was frowning. He held his gun in a ready grip and pointed at Lien. 

The blonde was glancing between Lien and Ivan. And then, almost as if feeling her gaze, he met Amelia’s eyes. She knew what she must look like--a classic damsel in distress; soaked, helpless, vulnerable, terrified. She could see it in his eyes. In the impersonal concern that dragged at the corner of his frown. Seeing her reflection there reminded her that she was _not_ a damsel that needed saving. Not when she played pretend with Mattie and her parents as kids, and not when kids bullied her after her parents died and not now.

With her rage fueling her, in a snap, Amelia reached up and grasped the gun and the hand in her hair. She pushed the gun away from her and stood, ignoring the knobby achiness of her knees and pivoted as she rose to send a punch into Lien’s exposed midriff. It was a solid hit, surprise once again being her ally. Amelia wasn’t sure if she could punch again, so she snatched Lein's wrist again and with both arms captured, brought her foot up and kicked straight out, sending the heel of her Timbs solidly into her gut. Lein grunted and again Amelia was pleased to see the shock written across her face. Her pleasure increased when that shock morphed into a familiar brand of fury that Amelia could invoke: fed up.

She yanked for her gun arm back. Amelia refused to relinquish it, squeezing as hard as she could. Lein shrieked in frustration and flexed. The bang from the gun _did_ surprise Amelia enough that she loosened her grip. Lein, not bothering to bring it back to shoot the damn woman, brought the butt of the gun down on Amelia’s head. Amelia couldn’t dodge and saw stars when it came down with a sickening crack. She groaned and staggered back.

There was another bang and Amelia jolted, shock running like cold water through her veins. Instinctively she grasped for her chest. But she found no wound and she felt no pain. When she looked up, she saw Lien on the ground, clutching her leg and screaming. The man with the ponytail looked grim. The three of them had moved to the side of their confrontation. With Lien distracted, Amelia reached for her gun hand, gripping the gun and punching the woman’s wrist, valiant in the attempt to make her release it. It worked. Lein gripped her thigh with both hands, teeth gritted and making these horrible keening, hissing moans. 

Amelia, holding the gun, realized she was holding a gun and with a little jerk tossed it away. Ivan stepped forward, bearing his presence down on Lien. He tapped his pipe on his shoulder, like a baseball player preparing to swing a bat. The look he gave Lien was cold. Her face was twisted, fury stifled by pain.

“I think I will make that offer again.” He said. “You can return to your master and you tell him that he is not welcome south of Winston square. And that the Polmini shipyard is mine. And that if he interferes with my businesses again, _especially_ behind my back-” Ivan bent down, eyes wide as he looked into Lein’s eyes. “-I will make him pay.”

He straightened and _smiled_ , saying with an eerily cheerful tone, “ _Or_ I can write it out and send it to him along with your body bag.”

Lein, visibly shaking, gulped and pushed herself to a knee, then staggered to her feet. Ivan backed up to give hre space. She nodded once, tucking her chin down, and began to limp up the block.

They all watched her go. When she was out of sight, they all turned and faced each other. Amelia was shivering, hair wet and clothes underneath the rain coat starting to grow wet as well. The man with the ponytail holstered his gun.

“I think she’d been the only operative, but we won’t know until we get in touch with Natalia and Irene’s teams.”

“Hush, Toris, there are...guests present.” Ivan glanced away from Amelia long enough to look to his subordinate, and didn’t see her bristle at his words. The brunette bowed in acknowledgement. Then all three of them were staring at her. She bared her teeth.

“I am not a child to be coddled. How _dare_ you insinuate that after everything that just happened.”

Ivan winced. Poor choice of words. He opened his mouth to say something, but Amelia had no interest in what he had to say. Tonight had been harrowing and although he was hot, he was dangerous--which was also hot _but_ a huge red flag. She turned away. She slammed the passenger door to the truck closed and marched around towards the driver’s side. En route, she could see the headlamp was indeed shattered, glass littering the pavement. Her nose wrinkled in frustration. There was also a hole in the hood about a foot above the headlight. She pursed her lips. Regardless if she could get the behemoth started again, she would need to do a basic check to see if the bullet ruptured anything vital. So she opened the driver’s set and popped the hood.

When she returned to the front, she was surprised and a little peeved to see Ivan already lifting it. His lackeys had stepped away, the smaller one pulling out a phone. As he lifted the support piece into place, she jerked it out of his hand and completed the action herself. Then she bent over the truck’s guts to try and assess the damage. She felt Ivan shift his weight, and from her periphery saw Ivan doing the same.

“Shove off, I don’t need your help!” Amelia spat.

Ivan frowned and straightened again, putting a hand on the hood. He probably did it unconsciously, but it drew attention to his massive size. She straightened too and stuck her chin out to him, stubbornly. She had to speak rather loudly to be heard over the rain.

“I don’t know who you are or where you come from, but from now on, leave me alone. I want no part in--” _Why is he looking at me like that?_ “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“...”

“What?”

He abruptly leaned close to her ear, and though her instinct was to move away, something in her halted.

“Because I am sorry it turned out this way. I did not want you involved. And I...I understand if you...do not want to see me again. But I--" And then he pulled back to say in a louder voice, "Could we move somewhere that is not in the middle of a rainstorm?"

Amelia went with her knee jerk reaction, "Absolutely not."

But once again her niceness and adherence to decorum caused her to sigh and say, "Alright. C'mon, big guy."

She led him to the passenger side and yanked the door open. She gestured inside after a moment where he just looked at her dumbly. "Well, get in."

At her urging, he complied and she closed the door after him before going back to her side and climbing in herself. She looked at him expectantly. 

"Ah, yes, eh." Was he... _nervous_? He wasn't meeting her eyes and his hands were either gripping his knee or his scarf. After another moment of deliberation, he sighed and turned to her. 

"I am veritably sorry for what happened tonight. I..I suppose there is no point in hiding now, I am--" His face twitched in a wince, "in charge of the branch of bratya here in Sephur City. And that was... business transaction you were not meant to be part of."

"Or ever see." Amelia said gravely. Ivan nodded. 

"I woulda found out eventually. Heck, it's not even that much of a surprise, given all-" Amelia made a flippant gesture towards Ivan, "-that." 

Ivan shrugged. "It is true. I cannot disguise what I am. But I never wanted to involve you. What happened tonight is...common occurrence. People close to me are always under threat. At least those in bratya choose that."

"Because you gave them that choice. You weren't going to do the same with me?" Ivan tucked his chin into his scarf. water was dripping from one of his curls down onto his shoulder and Amelia was frustrated to find it so fascinating. She wanted to reach out and-- _No, stop it. Focus._ She mentally slapped herself. 

"Yes, well, when say that, I have to ask, would you choose?"

Amelia waited a beat, expecting to hear more. When none was forthcoming she tilted her head in surprise. "Choose to join the mafia?!" she asked, slightly hysterical.

"No! No, nyet nyet. I would not ask _that_ of you. What I meant...was…" he folded his hands in his lap and looked at her. "Would you choose to remain... friends with me?"

Amelia sucked in harshly between her teeth. The vulnerability in his face rocked her. His accented voice curled so delicately around the word ‘friends’.

But she could still hear him saying it. Those hurtful words still branded on her heart: _I would not care if you would send her to her maker._

How can she be friends with someone who would say that?

She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, picking at the seam. She started slowly, still trying to pick out the right words, "That was...terrifying Ivan. And I won't even ask if it will happen again, because there's no way you can promise it _won't_."

Ivan looked away. He didn’t deny it

"...But I have to agree. This was a shitty first date. And you still owe me a chess game."

Ivan looked up at her, eyes wide and mouth slightly open. She smiled and shrugged.

"What can I say? I won't be easily frightened off. And despite my better judgement--" Amelia closed her eyes and acknowledged what she'd been feeling since getting in the car with him-- no, since _seeing_ him--despite what he'd said, she still trusted him. Just sitting in the car with him, she felt completely at ease. He didn’t _feel_ like a threat. Even if that moment hurt like hell, somehow, she felt that he hadn't intended harm. Perhaps he _was_ tricking her and perhaps she _was_ a fool for trusting him, but, even then, she wanted to give him a chance. "Despite my better judgment, I would like to be friends with you too, big guy."

Her feelings felt immediately justified as a secretive but genuine smile unfurled on his face, relief and happiness apparent, and the man she had first met colored in the edges of his features. 

He leaned forward a bit to say something more when the sound of "Fergalicious" cut him off. They both jumped, Ivan's pipe jerking up instinctively. 

Amelia smacked her forehead. "Artie! I completely forgot!" She exclaimed and dove for her phone. It wasn't Artie but Mattie who was calling and she cringed. How would she explain what happened?

But then she remembered how she ended up here in the first place. Confidently, she answered. "Hey brobro!"

"Amy! Oh good. Are you okay? Arthur tells me you aren't at the airport?"

"Yeah there was buttloads of traffic on the Freeway and when I tried to find my way own over, there was an accident and a detour and then the truck died. Luckily, my friend came to pick me up just now and so I should be--" 

She covered the phone briefly to whisper to Ivan. _"You can get me to Jensen Airport, right?"_

Ivan's eyebrows raised. He nodded. She uncovered the phone. 

"I should be underway soon. I also gotta call a tow service or something for the old boy, get him out of the way. Dear brother, the truck may have choked its last."

"Dear sister, I think that is the best news I've heard all night."

Amelia laughed. She bid him goodbye and hung up. She messaged Arthur but within seconds he was calling her too, so she delivered the same info. 

When she hung up, she looked down at her phone and bit her lip. She had lied to them. She hadn't totally meant to, it’s just that it’s sort of unbelievable and she's not really ready to unpack what happened so soon and she knew they would judge Ivan for it which she didn't want.

But she didn't like lying. At least, not to Mattie. They _never_ lied to each other. She’d have to do something about, probably after some thinking and a talk with Ivan.

It couldn't be dealt at that moment. She went about calling Triple A. When she relayed the message that it would take some time for a towing truck to get to them, Ivan nodded. "Good. That will give my driver enough time to come get us."

Amelia nodded and played with the phone resting in her hands. The rain was still coming down in droves. The hood was still propped open, blocking them from sight of the road. Seeing that, Amelia shifted her hand towards the door handle. “I should...probably actually check to see if anything’s ruptured, ya’ know, in the engine.”

“Oh, da, yes, of course.” He opened his own door and stepped out. Amelia nodded, opened the driver’s seat and slid out, dropping the last few inches with a splash. 

The rain sorta gave the rest of the evening a, well, somehow muffled sense. It was the constant noise. Or maybe it was residual disbelief and Amelia couldn’t trust her eyes.

They checked under the hood. The bullet had nicked the battery leaving an angry groove melted in the plastic. And it had severed a few of the electrical connections, but they couldn’t see any more damage in this non existent light. Amelia removed the hood’s stilt and let the hood close with a bang.

Ivan stepped away under an awning to make a phone call of his own. His lackeys were standing nearby, the little one smoking a cigarette. Their eyes moved between Amelia, Ivan, and their surroundings. Then their eyes flicked to the flashing yellow light of the white Triple A truck as it came around the bend. It approached the car. They watched Amelia go to the driver and chat. She stood by as he cinched the truck, crane reeling until the truck was tilted forward. A few pieces of glass dislodged from the broken headlight as the tow truck pulled it away. 

Amelia watched it go, a strange mix of relief and grief in her heart. 

She heart a throat clear behind her, barely audible through the rain, but she turned to see Ivan standing at the intersection, umbrella deployed and holding the door to an ink-colored SUV open. He beckoned her inside. 

She blinked. She hadn’t even heard that car approach! An uncomfortable thought occurred to her, _how long had I been standing there, zoning out?_

She bobbed her head and all but dove inside, Ivan closing the umbrella and following suit. Blondie had stubbed out his cigarette and took shotgun. Amelia meant to crawl across to the opposite window, only to find the ponytailed man opening that door and sliding into that seat. Ivan was filling in the other window seat, which left her with the middle. A strange anxious relief fluttered in her chest. She was leaving one stressful situation for another. She wasted no time buckling in.

The driver, a nondescript person with dark shoulder length hair, tan skin, and a grave face, gave them all a few seconds to settle before going into the night. The brunette next to her, murmuring an apology reached over their seats to pull out some towels. He handed one to each of them. Amelia suddenly thought him the best person ever as she draped it over her head. There was a brief and quiet exchange happening in the front between the blonde man and the driver in a language she didn’t know. Above them, the overarching sound was that of the windshield wipers working overtime to keep up with the rain.

After a while, Ivan leaned over to murmur in her ear, “I have arranged for another car to meet us at the airport. The driver will take you wherever you need to go.”

Amelia nodded. That was generous. She had planned to call an Uber.

“Thank you.” She replied. “I suppose I ought to explain...see my cousin who’s normally over in London seems to have dropped by right outta the blue. Asked me to come pick him up and because he’s stingy and probably didn’t see the need to call a taxi or something. So as, considering my car’s caput, I really appreciate this, Ivan.”

Amelia only noticed it because she’d been facing forward, instead of looking at Ivan like she wanted, but she saw the quick glance the Blondie in front shared with the driver, who then met her eyes by accident in the rearview mirror. He merely lifted his eyebrows before turning attention back to the road.

She looked over at Ivan. _God_ it wasn’t fair how attractive he was, seeing him tousle his hair to dry it and the way he held his body, turned towards her and almost shielding the shy little smile that lit up his face from the others. Like it was only for her. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and tucked the tag of his scarf back down. It had stuck out at some point during his motions. Her fingertips brushed only the slightest of touches against the skin at the corner of his jaw. She retreated as suddenly as she’d approached, that hand very much the warmest part of her body, and looked down at herself, embarrassed. 

The rest of the car ride was silent. When it pulled up to the curb of the airport pick up stop, Ivan got out, towel left behind on the seat and held the door open as Amelia clambered out. She heard the other door open and felt the car shift as the ponytailed one also got out.

She glanced around, pushing the towel down from her head. Indeed, there was another car idling by the curb, this one a sleek sedan. And there, sitting on a bench inside and looking down at his tablet, was Arthur. His single suitcase was resting by his knee. She sighed in relief and no small amount of happiness to see her cousin. It had been almost three years since the last time he’d visited. She took two steps towards him before remembering herself. She pivoted to face Ivan and gave him a brilliant smile.

“Thanks, big guy. You really saved my bacon today.” Then she quickly took the towel from her shoulders, almost forgetting and handed it to him. “Seriously, tonight was..a lot. Not to say that a lot is... _bad_ necessarily, but let’s keep tonight’s brand of A Lot to a minimum and try a night in next time.”

Ivan took the towel and smirked. “Yes that sounds ideal. Go, and please message me when you arrive home safely.”

Amelia was already taking a few steps backwards towards the door, playfully swaying as she talked, smile growing on her face to match Ivan’s. “What, don’t trust your driver?”

“Oh I do, but somehow I find you have a penchant for trouble.”

Amelia laughed and turned away, giving a last wave. “That’s me alright. Amelia ‘Penchant for Trouble’ Jones. Will do, big guy.”

He waved and got back in his car. A second slam told her the other man had gotten inside as well. She turned away properly and pushed the door open to the baggage claim.

At the sound of the door, Arthur looked up. His bored expression transformed into one of relief disguised as annoyance. “ _There_ you are. Took you bloody long enough.”

Amelia rolled her eyes as he stood to greet her. The two hugged and Amelia took his suitcase. “Excuse me,” she said, “I believe it is _I_ who should be frustrated with you. Who the hell books a flight to America and doesn’t even warn his cousins?”

“Mr. Bricht, that’s who.”

“Ah, the infamous Mr. Bricht. He seems to be the reason for oh so many of _your_ shortcomings, dear cousin.”

“Wha--a, I--that’s preposterous!”

“Is it? I recall you saying something about being bedridden, which you blamed on Mr. Bricht, and that other time you claim your car was impounded which you blamed on Bricht, and that week you didn’t call Mattie back after that ominous ‘they’re coming’ text? You blamed Bricht for that one too!”

“Wha--” Arthur continued his impression of a fish as they approached the car. The driver, a severely dressed woman with gorgeous red hair had already opened the trunk. Amelia shortened the handle and heaved it inside as Artie protested.

“It really _was_ his fault. _Is_ his fault. I can’t read that man’s mind! And I don’t want to! He’s got absolute bollocks for brains.”

“That doesn’t excuse you not letting us know at least before you boarded your flight. Even a simple text would be better than this.”

“I couldn’t help it as--”

“Careful, Artie, you’re sounding less posh and more like a whiny brat.

“-- _I_ had only just learned of my flight an hour before it was scheduled to--Now hold on a minute, here you. _You_ are the brat.”

Amelia laughed fully and good naturedly as they got in the car from each side. She was still chuckling when she leaned forward and gave the driver her address.

Arthur sat with his arms and legs crossed, pouting out the window. Arthur was one who cared for appearance. He put a lot of value in things like manners and proper order. That’s why this surprise visit was so unlike him. He was tense about the shoulders in a way that told Amelia he was probably more uncomfortable with the spontaneity than she was.

“Aw, come now Artie, I’m just messin’ with ya. We’re glad to have you visit. Anytime. I’m really glad to see ya.”

His green eyes pierced her with a hard glare. Then he too sighed and unfolded himself. He reached over and put a hand on her shoulder comraderaririly. “Me too.” And he chuckled too. “I can’t believe you and Matt still have to flip coins for such things.”

“Hey, don’t you dare insult our proud tradition.”

He lifted his arms in surrender, a wry smile twisting his expression. Then he glanced at her apprehensively. “Say, who’s this friend that would give you a ride in the middle of the night? Is it her?” And he pointed at the driver. Amelia and the driver’s eyes met in the rearview mirror.

“Er, no. She’s um, a friend of my friend’s. He...happened to be in the area, when I called, and uh, sent this car over…” She couldn’t help her voice from pitching weirdly, fumbling through the words. Arthur was no idiot and how _could_ she explain this.

Then the driver spoke up, a calm and clipped voice. “I am one of Mr. Braginsky’s chauffeur’s. We work long hours driving for him, and it isn’t that strange for him to have us pick his associates up at odd hours of the night. Especially from the airport. My name is Mariette, by the way.” The woman’s eyes met Amelia’s in the rearview mirror again.

“Who’s this ‘Braginsky’?”

“Ahh, a CEO of some kind, I think. A big shot I met at Tarry’s some nights ago. He uh, well, I haven’t had much chance to ask him what he does, but it’s clear the guy is wealthy.”

Arthur sniggered. “Well, Amelia, you always knew how to pick ‘em.”

Amelia blushed furiously and looked away from Mariette’s honey-brown eyes and glared at her cousin. He was hunched over his crossed arms and was giving her a sly look. The same look he wore when she told him about her boyfriend, the football captain, back in high school during the summer he’d visited. And the look he gave her when she mentioned a date with a minor celebrity.

“It’s not like that!” She _hated_ how shrilly it came off. There were few things she hated more than a woman sounding shrill because people always thought less of her for it.

“Isn’t it though? I can see you’re blushing.” In a panic, she glanced at Mariette and saw she was smiling. 

“Shut up!” She protested and turned away from her cousin.

He laughed in his boyish, nasally way. When he calmed he did allow, “Well, he can’t be that bad a chap if he’s letting you use one of his _personal_ drivers. And this is a premium Lexus.”

Amelia bit her lip and refused to answer. 

“Well, since you don’t seem inclined to, I shall call Mattie and let him know we are on the way….Yes, hello Matthew. Amelia has finally followed through on her word and retrieved me. We should be home shortly. Expect a 2017 Lexus, RC 300 model, to pull up, and not that archaic beast of a truck you ninnies held on to for so long….Yes, I know. I asked her the same thing. Says it belongs to a ‘friend’ of hers. A ‘Braginsky’ she met at the pub...Haha. I’ll be sure to relay that. Cheerio, then.”

Arthur, after he hung up, gave Amelia a cheeky grin. “ _Matthew_ didn’t seem to know about this fellow either. A secret tryst, Amelia, really?”

She groaned. “I’ve already told you, it’s not like that!”

“Matthew seems to recall differently. Said you two were involved in a _heated_ game of, billiards was it? An interesting choice of seduction, I’ll admit, but--”

Amelia resorted to covering her ears. She glared at her cousin, wishing he would crumble into ashes as he laughed boisterously again. From the corner of her eye she saw Mariette stifling giggles as well. _Et, tu Mariette?_

Despite the embarrassment and the illfortune that had begotten the beginning of Amelia’s evening, they got home in one piece. She directed Mariette through the parking lot towards the back of the building, where their condo was. Once she’d parked next to the curb, Arthur didn’t bother waiting any longer. He got out, grabbed his suitcase and started up the stairs.

Amelia got out as well, but ducked back inside to say, “Right, well, thanks for this Mariette. I hope you get a bonus for your troubles.”

Mariette turned around, smiling, and said. “Not at all, Amelia. It was one of my better assignments.”

“Er, right. About that. You won’t like, report any of this back to Ivan, will you?”

Mariette’s only reply was “What makes you think I’ll do that?” But the twinkle in her eye didn’t ease Amelia’s worries. She tapped the roof of the car, hesitating, but finally bid the nice woman a good night and closed the door. She waved her off and climbed the four sets of stairs to their apartment.

She opened the door to 474, stepped inside, closed it and locked it before kicking off her shoes. She sighed and took a few steps in the hallway before she met two pairs of eyes, one green, one mauve, and both expressing confusion, concern, and curiosity. Amelia groaned.

“I already told you guys what happened!”

“Yeha, but you left out the part that your ‘friend’ was the hot guy from the bar the other night!”

“It wasn’t important!”

“Uh, I have to disagree with you there. It’s the _most_ important!”

How she wanted to say, _“And me almost dying was not the most important! And finding out that said hot guy is kind of a mafia boss is not the most important? And not to mention I saw a woman get shot.”_ But she didn’t say that because that was a can of worms she did not want to mess with at the moment. Nor was she sure they were her secrets to tell, if Ivan’s identity was even a secret. She’d have to talk with him first.

The thought put a frown on her face. Reminder of the night layered a new kind of exhaustion on her shoulders and she slumped. “Look, can we just leave it alone. I wanna sleep, I’m sure Artie wants to sleep, and Mattie, don’t you have zombies to go kill or something?”

Matthew backed off, clutching at his chest in mock hurt. “They’re not zombies, they're ‘creepers’!” 

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” She pushed passed them towards the bathroom. That seemed to end the conversation. Matthew chatted with Arhtur about his flight, also inquiring about the reason for coming and the lack of warning. She brushed her teeth and washed her face before calling a goodnight to each of their rooms.

Once she was in the safety of her room with the door shut (and even then looking furtively around), she pulled her phone out.

_ >We got home safe. _

_ >Mariette seems nice. You should give her a raise. _

She bit her lip as she sent them in quick succession. She was partway through her third message when the response came just as quick.

_ <Good, I’m glad. And I’m glad she was gracious. She is a trustworthy associate. _

Amelia deleted what she was going to say and instead replied.

_ >Are all your coworkers like her? Or did you just send me the nicest one? _

_ <Ha, you are quick. No they are not like her. But it was more luck than scheming that she was one of the few available tonight. _

_ >I see. _

Amelia stuck out her tongue as she thought, fingers hovering over the cramped keyboard. That was kind of a brusque response. But before she could, Ivan replied,

_ >I meant what I said before. _

_ >There are dangers that come with being associated with me. And you were right. I cannot protect you from them all. It is why I tend not to visit outside my circles. _

Amelia waited, watching the dots that meant he was typing. Then they disappeared and she frowned.

_ >Are you tryna back out of our friendship deal? _

_ <No, nothing of the sort. I’m trying to offer you a way out. _

_ >Well then no. You’re too-- _

ah shit, what’s a good way to describe “mysterious and sweet and also hot as fuck” without sounding creepy?

\-- _intriguing to let go. And you’re way too damn good at pool. Look, I can take care of myself. Our friendship won’t be a hindrance to me, so don’t let it be one to you._

Well, she _says_ that, but things could change.

_ <That could change, Amelia. Do not take this lightly. _

Damn.

She pressed the call button, once more shooting a look over her shoulder at the door.

After a single ring he picked up. “What is it?” He sounded openly curious and maybe a little worried.

“Nothing, I just figured this was a conversation better had voice to voice, if not in person. And I’m not taking this lightly. Okay, well, maybe I am. I’m still trying to...wrap my head around what happened. But I think I can handle it. Can you trust me when I say that?”

“Mn, da, I think I can. I also find you too...intriguing to let go.”

_Hoooly shit, girl._

“In that case, what do ya say to another date, big guy. Imma bout to whoop your ass in chess.”

He laughed breathily. The sound sent a delightful tingle from her ear down her shoulder. “That sounds wonderful, Amelia. I remember you mentioning you had a set…”

“Oh! Yeah, I do, but, uh, with my cousin visiting...how about I bring it to Tarry’s and we can play there? After I close up? If you want to of course.”

“If that is what you want to do, then it is what I want to do.”

“Great. We are, uh, actually closed tomorrow, if you want to come by, like 6 or 7. And I’m no Lovi, but I can make dinner too.”

“That sounds perfect.”

No, Amelia did _not_ melt from the warm timber in his voice.

“Great, then I’ll see you then?”

“Da. Until tomorrow.”

“Bye.”

“Goodbye.”

 _Click_ as she hung up. She didn’t want to feel like the lead in a rom com, but she pressed her hands to her warm cheeks, disbelievingly looking at herself in the mirror above the bureau.

From the other side of her door she heard Mattie call, “Congrats on your _date_ , sis.”

She stormed over and threw the door open. “Is there no privacy in this accursed house!” She tore down the hallway to where Mattie and Arthur had retreated to the couch, now modified as the pull out bed. Mattie seized a pillow. “Nope!” He responded to her question much too merrily.

“Don’t you dare.” She leveled a finger.

“Oh, good thinking Matthew. En garde!” Arthur brandished his pillow, looking like some Knight of the Realm of Sleepyville in his silken button down striped pajamas and the frilly floral pillow his weapon. He launched himself over the couch and brought it down on Amelia.

“Oh, it’s on. You guys are going to regret this.” Because Amelia’s _real_ middle name was ‘Friggen' Queen of Pillow Fights’. 

The fight ended when one of Arthur’s pajama buttons got torn off and he paused the action with a dramatic and regretful moan. The pajamas were among the few casualties, the rest lying in fluffy scattered tufts around the living room. Their couch was now down two pillows. They declared the fight a draw, on account of the button, and because Amelia had been winning, and decided to turn in for the night. 

Mattie gave Amelia a sly wink before she went into her room. She stuck her tongue out and closed the door sharply. Arthur sighed. It was like they hadn’t changed at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia, I just like to muck about with the characters
> 
> I made it so translations should appear if you hover over the text.


End file.
